


planet of love

by whiskerprince



Series: One Party To Rule Them All [1]
Category: Produce 101 (TV), X1 (Korea Band)
Genre: !! STANDALONE FIC !!, 'we both knew about each other but never said anything until now', M/M, Post-College AU, art included :3c, everyone is a literature major because it's my interest okay!!!!, gratuitous literary analogies, jackson hosts another damn party, meeting through friends, one night stand turned ????, sad to hopeful end
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-10
Updated: 2019-12-10
Packaged: 2021-02-24 15:27:52
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,711
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21740179
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/whiskerprince/pseuds/whiskerprince
Summary: Alright, he'll be honest. Hangyul's still a little tipsy and he can't quite figure out if Jinhyuk and Wooseok are dating or not.
Relationships: Kim Wooseok | Wooshin/Lee Hangyul, one-sided wooseok/jinhyuk
Series: One Party To Rule Them All [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1566931
Comments: 14
Kudos: 88





	planet of love

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was intended to be part of the jackson party fic fest (hence the setting), however, as i missed the deadline, you all have it here in a series of standalone party fics, all intended to take place on the same night, at the same party. no knowledge of other fics is necessary aside from the recurring instance of cho seungyoun hatching a plan to build a zipline between jackson's penthouse and the vessel at hudson yards. enjoy!

_There's a part in the movie_  
_where you can see right through the acting,_  
_where you can tell that I'm about to burst into tears,_  
_right before I burst into tears_  
_and flee to the slimy moonlit riverbed_  
_canopied with devastated clouds._  
  
— Dirty Valentine | Crush | Richard Siken

"Lee Hangyul? Is that you, Lee Hangyul?"

Hangyul freezes a smile on his face and turns to face Lee Jinhyuk, standing up from the loveseat he had been cozied up on with his date tucked against his side, a matching-but-genuine smile on his face. "Hyung," he greets, suffocating a groan.

Jinhyuk waves him over to his little gathering frantically, eyes alight. "I didn't know you were coming!" he says. "Seungyounie said you hated parties and wouldn't show up without good reason." He pauses. Understanding dawns on his face. "Ah. The zipline."

"A clever ruse to lure the hermit from his hovel," Hangyul sighs, but he can't suppress the genuine curl to his lips. He had missed Jinhyuk. "Preying on my mother hen nature. Not very cash-money of him."

Jinhyuk laughs. "Well, don't be a stranger. You know Seungwoo-hyung and Sunho-hyung, right?"

He does. He offers a small bow to his seniors. Seungwoo returns it with a slight smile and Sunho beckons him over too. "We'll share our bourbon, so come drink with us," Sunho calls.

Hangyul's stomach churns its three gin-and-tonics unhappily, but he can't refuse seniors he hasn't seen in a few years. He takes the chair between Sunho and Jinhyuk's loveseat and Sunho reveals a small cooler filled with balls of ice tucked to the side of the sofa he's sharing with Seungwoo. He winks at Hangyul. He plucks one ball of ice with tongs and drops it in a glass, then douses it with bourbon. Hangyul takes the hand-off and braces himself as he takes a sip.

Swallows. Holds the glass away to look at it. Then looks at Sunho, barely restraining a laugh. "This is iced tea?" Hangyul says. Or asks. Postulates? He looks at the glass again with suspicion and Jinhyuk bursts out laughing.

"Indeed," Sunho says, grinning. "But don't let Jackson know. He was pouty when I told him I wouldn't drink, so I compromised."

"I don't know if you're an asshole or a genius," Hangyul mutters, and this time all of them except Hangyul and Jinhyuk's date burst into laughter. He shoots a glance at the date to see if he's offended them, but doubletakes so fast he gets a wave of dizziness.

"Oh," he says softly. "It's you."

"Oh! Where are my manners?" Jinhyuk claps his hands together. "Hangyul-ah, this is my roommate from undergrad and my best friend, Kim Wooseok. Wooseokie, this is my precious junior, Lee Hangyul." He glances between the two of them. "I didn't know you were acquainted?"

Hangyul comes back to himself. "Oh, no, we aren't—it's just—just—well." He rubs the back of his neck and laughs a little. "I mean, everyone knows Kim Wooseok. I was surprised," he says to Wooseok, "to see you at a party. You never came to any of the big parties our department threw. I just assumed you were even less socially inclined than me." _Or exhausted from the constant attention, or just a prick,_ he thinks but does not say.

"That's a hole in one," Jinhyuk says, nudging Wooseok's shoulder playfully. "He's a bit on the reserved side, but I managed to talk him into this one."

"You? No." Wooseok shakes his head. His voice is softer than Hangyul expects. "But when Jackson really wants you to be somewhere..." He trails off and rolls his eyes.

"Cheers to that," Sunho says with a laugh. "It _is_ good to see you, though."

Wooseok scratches his nose and averts his gaze. "Likewise."

"Ah, well," Hangyul says, "sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the staring. Even if you're well-known, it's probably pretty weird for someone you don't know to—"

"I know you," Wooseok says.

And now Hangyul really does stare at him. "Pardon?"

"I know who you are," Wooseok repeats.

Hangyul wants to ask _how_ , because they have never formally met— _the river, the High Line, New Jersey twinkling on the far shore, sweat sticking to his back and there, leaning against the rail_ —and Hangyul isn't a someone. All he is is someone who knows people who are someone. How could Kim Wooseok—

"I talked about you a lot," Jinhyuk explains. "You were my favorite student—always sitting at the front, always asking questions—so I ended up talking about you when I came home from classes. How embarrassing. It must have been a lot if Wooseokie remembers your name clearly."

"You have no idea," Wooseok says dryly, and this time, Hangyul laughs with them.

(Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen)

They catch up in the comfort of the library until Sunho's bottle of fake bourbon runs out and two empty bottles of wine appear on the coffee table in the center of their chairs. Clarity returns to Hangyul's mind as he sobers up and he trades sloshing-fishbowl-vision and a wagging tongue for careful, quiet observation of the man he knows as Kim Wooseok.

Alright, he'll be honest. He's still a little tipsy and he can't quite figure out if Jinhyuk and Wooseok are dating or not.

Luckily, Jinhyuk drags Sunho deep into conversation about wartime poetry and the rediscovery of literature by comfort women and how it really ought to be causing more of a stir in academia, freeing up Hangyul and allowing him to dive into Sunho's vacated space on the sofa. He plants his head against Seungwoo's thigh and Seungwoo lets out a soft sigh, but his hands fall to Hangyul's head to pet him, regardless. Wooseok has his body turned towards Jinhyuk and Sunho, silent but attentive to their conversation, gently swirling his wine glass with his wrist.

Hangyul pretends to be interested in his own feet hooked over the arm of the loveseat. "So," he says with little preamble, "they're dating, then."

"Hm? Who?" Seungwoo matches Hangyul's low tone.

"You know," Hangyul says vaguely, shooting a glance at Wooseok to make sure he isn't listening. "When I first glanced over, I assumed that the person sitting next to hyung was his date. That sort of vibe, you know?" He chews on the inside of his lip. Is he crazy?

Seungwoo watches Hangyul's feet twitch, brows pulling together. "Is that what it looks like to you? Still?"

"What?" Hangyul says.

"It's not—no, I'm sorry." Seungwoo offers him a wan smile. "There used to be rumors about them, when they lived together. It's the kind of friends they are, I suppose. Sunho-hyung and I have gotten used to it, but if you haven't seen them in a few years, then..."

"Oh, I've never actually seen them together," Hangyul explains. "That's why I wanted to ask. They seem...close. For roommates. Maybe even for best friends."

Seungwoo's expression becomes complicated. Hangyul twists his head back to look at Seungwoo, gone from fleeting curiosity to genuine interest. But he catches himself. He turns and settles back on Seungwoo's thigh. "Well," he says, "in any case, that's none of my business. It's just good to see everyone again." Seungwoo picks up patting his head again, appreciative.

Truthfully, he's still a little curious. He knows an adder's nest when he sees one—he won't go poking into the personal lives of his hyungs again—but Kim Wooseok is so different from what he expected. The severe and handsome-beyond-compare grad student who lurked on the seventh floor of the Literature department, forever restricted to the document recovery wing of the building. By choice or by force? Surely no one wanted to choke on dust when they could be preening in the sun with a mocha in hand, catching appreciative glances from undergrads. But surely if Kim Wooseok weas unleashed on their campus, productivity would come to a halt just to admire him, would it not?

Or so the stories of his grandeur go.

Hangyul kind of expected a hair gel gym rat or a manbun in a cardigan, both with sticks firmly lodged up their butts. Some holier-than-thou Murakami fanboy who could recite _Dulce et Decorum est_ on command and read _The Catcher in the Rye_ for fun. When was the last time the rumor mill churned out someone actually desirable? _Was_ Kim Wooseok desirable?

— _Arms crossed over the railing, sweater sleeves covering all but the tips of his fingers, thin legs emerging from jean shorts down to his knees_ —

Too early to tell, Hangyul decides. Certainly the rumors held up, but in appearance only. Even so...the slender softness of his body was unexpected. The dress shirt he wore was loose but tucked into his pants, revealing a waist small enough to fit your hands around, if they were big enough. Soft hair that almost fell into his eyes and a small, pouted mouth. It gave Hangyul a sick little thrill down his spine just to look at Wooseok. He wasn't ambitious enough to think beyond careful, objective examination of Wooseok's appearance, but he understands how easy it would be to build up a tale around this man. A prince? Not exactly. Not a princess either, but something soft and royal and unscathed like from a folk tale. Something almost lewd in its softness.

Hangyul's stomach churns in a way that has nothing to do with alcohol. Maybe he _was_ that ambitious after all. He looks away, face hot.

"Hang on," Seungwoo says. "Jinhyuk told Wooseok about you. But you...don't tell me you're one of Wooseok's fanboys?"

Six hundred meters from the front door of Jackson's high-rise, on the tracks of a long-defunct rail line and far from their campus reputations, Hangyul came across Kim Wooseok before the name Kim Wooseok had any meaning to him. He could point out the exact spot from Jackson's balcony; over the rows of parked carriages in the train yard and close enough to the water to hear the seagulls bickering. He would ask Wooseok if he remembered that day, but it's hard to remember someone you never really met.

"No," Hangyul replies. "Nothing like that."

(Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen)

There's a conversation playing out in front of Hangyul, but it's completely incomprehensible. It's like he knows the sentence structure and how to conjugate the verbs, but he's missing the vocabulary or he keeps getting the formality of voice wrong. He can't understand a damn thing. And no one seems to think anything is wrong except for him.

Seungwoo is telling a story. Something about the London study abroad he, Jinhyuk, and Wooseok took during a summer break in their undergrad years. The story itself is easy to follow: the details of the cobbled street and the name of the pub and the stickiness of the wood boards on the floor, enough for Wooseok and Jinhyuk to fall into a memory without leaving Hangyul and Sunho in the dark; the names of the British girls who approached them, raising the tension; and the smile at the corners of their lips as they remember how the story goes—reflected, anticipatory, on Sunho's lips. Hangyul could plot it on a graph like he's in freshman year again— _here, the rising action; here, the denouement_ —but there's a second story playing out before him. A whispered aside to the audience that only Hangyul notices.

Wooseok's hand is light on Jinhyuk's knee. So light it could be an accident, except for the way his fingers squeeze gently every time Jinhyuk laughs, his eyes flying up to Jinhyuk's face to trace the creases of his eyes when he smiles, Wooseok's own smile flagging. He doesn't laugh with the rest of them. His lips part as if to follow suit, but instead they fall into a soft, private look of awe when he looks at Jinhyuk. Eyes always on Jinhyuk. Shoulders flush. Thighs flush. Distracted darting back to Seungwoo's face, cheeks pink with wine or shame. Is there a difference anymore? Hangyul's hand finds his own wine glass and he drains it, tasting nothing.

Wooseok's aside is about love and longing, played out through subtle flirtation, but as blatant as if he were singing center stage. He holds out his throbbing heart but the play continues unawares. How could they not see this for what it is? Seungwoo and Sunho's eyes turned carefully away from Wooseok, moving between each other and Jinhyuk, a triangle of smiling and laughing and talking and pretending not to see. Even Jinhyuk does not acknowledge the hand burning on his knee; the press of Wooseok's soft body against his.

_Is that what it looks like to you? Still?_

Hangyul starts to put the pieces into place. There's a third story, one Hangyul isn't privy to, that has already played out. The first act bleeding into this torturous second act. Eyes averted as a kindness and touch tolerated as sympathy. No, Wooseok and Jinhyuk were not dating. But maybe they were once. Or they wanted to be. As Wooseok still wanted to be. But what can Hangyul do about it? Perhaps Wooseok asked for this. _Please, please just allow me to put my hand over yours_. Maybe Wooseok asked them to play house and step over his bleeding body, strewn across the kitchen floor. It was a slow, painful death, but to some it could be kinder than simply twisting the knife. Hangyul doesn't know. It's none of his business.

"The girls were funny, weren't they?" Seungwoo says, shaking his head. "More straightforward than the girls around here when you've got something they want."

"Or if you _are_ something they want," Jinhyuk adds, winking.

"Nice of them to buy a round," Wooseok says.

"It's only because they thought you were so pretty," Jinhyuk says, patting Wooseok's knee. A smile flashes across Wooseok's face before he dives into his wine glass, tilting it with two hands to hide the look on his face.

"Oh no," Sunho says warily. "I know how Wooseokie gets with alcohol. Very handsy."

"No," Wooseok protests, "it's only with—"

"Don't tell me." Sunho gasps. "Did you really end up leaving with one of them? My well-behaved dongsaeng?"

"No, no," Jinhyuk says. "Two of them were real keen on him, but you know how shy he gets. It's alright. That's not really your scene, is it?"

"I don't like hookups," Wooseok agrees.

Seungwoo's eyes slide to Jinhyuk's with a sly smile. "But that doesn't mean _everyone_ came home."

Sunho barks a laugh. "Lee Jinhyuk? Really, you?"

Jinhyuk groans and buries his face in his hands. "She was a really good kisser, okay, and even I'm not immune to—"

Sunho shouts and stands up to swat Jinhyuk on the shoulder, but he's laughing and then Jinhyuk is laughing and Seungwoo starts to laugh and Hangyul turns his eyes to Wooseok and he sees the moment the curtains pull away. The first act has already played out, but for a moment the curtains are yanked back to expose the deconstructed set and the costumes and the scaffolding and it's no longer a play but real life, real people, real feelings. Hangyul sees the shine on the waterline of Wooseok's eyes, too bright under Jackson's hot track lighting to be safe. And he could be wrong—Wooseok could be drunk, Wooseok could be in his memories, Wooseok could have an eyelash in his eye—but Hangyul doesn't think he's wrong. He can see the third and final act closing in, the one where everything goes wrong and ends in tears and shattered glass.

Hangyul hates endings like this.

He stands up suddenly—too suddenly. He sways on his feet and rattles the table in front of them, effectively killing the conversation. Everyone looks at him, Seungwoo touching his elbow and asking, _hey, are you all good?_ Wooseok blinks too fast and casts his eyes to the ceiling, still bright and wet. Hangyul's vertigo clears and he remembers his purpose.

"I-I'm gonna go piss," he says. "Too much wine...or something."

"Okay," Seungwoo says. "You sure you're good to walk?"

"Yeah," Hangyul says. "I'm mostly sober, just a little dizzy. Anyone else need to go? Wooseok-hyung, you haven't gotten up yet. Come with me."

Sunho nods. "Actually, I haven't—" Hangyul stomps on his toe, digging his heel in, and Sunho yelps. "Haven't—haven't—haven't offered to fetch waters for everyone! I'm basically DD for the whole party, so I'll take care of you all. Hangyul, Wooseok—go on ahead, we'll catch up with you later."

"I'm okay—" Wooseok starts to say.

Hangyul ignores him, ignores the curious glances of his hyungs. He grabs Wooseok's wrist, the one on Jinhyuk's knee, and pulls him up and out of the loveseat. He comes away with less fight than Hangyul expects, letting Hangyul lead him out of the library where they had congregated and through the throngs of party guests. They don't say goodbye. They ignore calls from people who recognize them and climb up a spiral staircase to another living room with hallways branching off from it, still crowded with people. Hangyul blindly picks a hallway and pulls Wooseok down it, ignoring socks and panties thrown over doorknobs until they come to a stretch of uninhabited rooms. Hangyul ushers Wooseok inside, touching his back with only the flat of his wrist. He follows Wooseok in and closes the door with a quiet click, turning the lock.

When he looks up he finds Wooseok staring at him blankly. "This isn't the bathroom," Wooseok says, almost an accusation.

The ceiling light is off and the bedside lamp turned low, casting handsome shadows across Wooseok's face. He is still, somehow, holding his now empty wineglass. The tie at the front of his shirt has come undone and hangs limply, uneven, down his chest. He is terrifying to behold, even tipsy and wet-eyed. But in this lighting, Hangyul can see the bags under his eyes and the lip tint coming off his mouth and the resigned slump to his shoulders. Wariness in his eyes, but perfunctory. _Whether it's drawn-and-quartered in front of the man I adore or spirited away by a stranger, who really cares, right?_

Hangyul swallows, his skin tight and uncomfortable. "You should rest on the bed, Wooseok-hyung," he says quietly.

"Jinhyuk will get worried," Wooseok says, flat.

"I'm worried now," Hangyul says.

And now—still wary, but surprised, too. Curious. Wooseok tilts his head to the side, but Hangyul doesn't give him a chance to ask. "I'll bring you some water and aspirin," he says, then unlocks the door and steps out, closing it behind him.

(Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen)

Hangyul half-expects Wooseok to be gone by the time he gets back. He has no reason to stay. Hangyul gave him an out, but if Wooseok wants to return to their friends, Hangyul will let him go without a single complaint. Still, when he opens the door, he finds Wooseok lying on the bed, back to the door. He doesn't roll over when Hangyul closes the door and sets the glass of water and bottle of aspirin on the night stand.

Hangyul sits gingerly on the edge of the bed. "Wooseok-ssi," he says in a low voice. "You should take this aspirin, if you can."

Wooseok doesn't reply.

Hangyul waits another couple minutes for a response, but when he gets none, he stands and takes his own dose. He drains the entire glass of water and sets it on the table beside Wooseok's full one. Lacking anything better to do and unwilling to leave Wooseok's side for no reason other than the fact that he put him here in this room, Hangyul finds a copy of _The Makioka Sisters_ displayed cover-out on a shelf and sits down in a leather armchair across the bedroom to read.

Wooseok could have fallen asleep, as it took Hangyul some time to procure aspirin, water, and glasses (in that order), but something about the tension and silence in the air weighs on the hairs of Hangyul's arm and tells him that Wooseok is faking. He gets through two chapters before Wooseok stirs.

Hangyul pretends not to be watching him over the corner of the book. Wooseok sits up slowly, shirt tie still maddeningly undone, and looks all around him before finally letting his eyes rest on Hangyul. He watches Hangyul for several long, skin-prickling moments before picking up the aspirin and water glass and throwing both back down his throat. He returns to being horizontal, this time on his back with his arms akimbo and one knee propped up.

"I had it under control," he mumbles. Hangyul might not have heard him if he weren't honed in on Wooseok's every movement.

"I'm sure," Hangyul says. He doesn't mean it to come off sarcastic, but Wooseok jackknifes up anyway.

"Actually, it's really none of your business," Wooseok says. "I don't care what you think you saw—I had it under control. I was where I wanted to be. I don't need a stranger to rescue me."

"You can go back whenever you like," Hangyul says, still pretending to read. "I didn't drag you here to make a pass at you."

Wooseok gets to his feet without another word and walks out the door, leaving it ajar.

And that's the end of it. Hangyul doesn't know what he expected. Not a 'thank you' by any means, but maybe a softening of his eyes. The brush of fingers as he handed over the water and aspirin bottle. Not storming back out to Jinhyuk's side; not the anger. But it was a good lesson for him to learn: mind your own fucking business and don't look for answers in beautiful, troubled boys.

That day on the High Line, when he first saw Kim Wooseok before he knew Kim Wooseok, Hangyul had been looking for answers. In his bag, the fifth draft of his thesis--slashed, circled, and dotted in blue pen. Flimsy, overdramatic structure; cliches clashing with pedantic word choice; and completely absent of anything even resembling an authentic emotional sentiment. Dead poetry. His ugly, misshapen children that would not earn him a passing grade from his committee. Hangyul came to the High Line just before sunset looking for answers or a concrete slab to throw himself at and kick and wail and scream, whichever came first. Instead, Hangyul got a boy.

He got Wooseok in a yellow sweater too heavy for the late spring weather and jean shorts that touched the tops of his knees. He got pink fingers with chewed nails and beat-up Nike's with one of the knots undone and a side profile that winded him more than the stairs up the High Line. He saw Wooseok and was filled with an unbearable sadness.

"Excuse me," Hangyul said before he could stop himself. "Are you—"

Wooseok turned to him with wide eyes and pouted lips and the curl of his fingers around the sleeves of his sweater.

Hangyul smiled apologetically. "Sorry," he said. "Are you aware your shoelace is untied?"

"Oh!" Wooseok said. "No, I wasn't! Thank you, I, um, would have tripped."

"It's no trouble," Hangyul said, laughing a little. "Take care." And he walked away.

_Coward. Coward, coward, coward..._

The door to Hangyul's appropriated room opens and he lifts his head to tell off the intruder. It's Kim Wooseok. Hangyul closes his mouth. Wooseok leans back on the door, clicking it shut and flicking the lock. "Couldn't find the way back," he mutters.

Hangyul blinks. "I can take you—"

"No," Wooseok says. "I'm just going to take a nap here. Leave whenever you feel like it." And he climbs onto the bed and lays on his side, as Hangyul had first found him. Hangyul puts down his book.

"Won't hyung worry about you?" he asks quietly, getting up from his chair to sit at the bottom corner of the queen.

"Didn't I say it's none of your business?" Wooseok snaps.

_That day..._

"I know, I know," Hangyul says. "I was going to offer to let him know where you are while you rest."

_That day, I wanted to ask you..._

Wooseok flips around, fast enough to make Hangyul jump. "What is your _problem?_ " Wooseok asks. "I barely know you. Why are you going so far to help me?"

_I wanted to ask you..._

Hangyul drops his eyes. "I'm sorry."

"Sorry isn't an answer."

Hangyul looks up to meet Wooseok's glower.

_I wanted to ask you if you were lonely._

"Because you looked lonely," Hangyul says. "And I didn't know what to do, but I couldn't just sit there and pretend you weren't about to burst into tears."

And now Wooseok drops his eyes, curling into himself a little. "That's still none of your business." But he doesn't sound mad anymore.

"I can leave, if that would make you more comfortable," Hangyul offers.

Wooseok snorts. "I thought you said I looked lonely?"

And that's how Hangyul ends up in a truce with Wooseok, the room divided between Wooseok's kingdom on top of the covers of the queen-size bed and Hangyul's kingdom perched in a leather chair. The boundary between them? A red fox skin thrown haphazardly on the ground at the foot of the bed, as if from a child's tantrum. Wooseok lies on his side and chews his fingernails, and Hangyul reads the same sentence over and over and they both try not to look at each other.

"It's not Jinhyuk's fault," Wooseok says finally, voice low. "I don't want you to think less of him, or the others. It's not their fault that it's like this. You don't know what kind of a handful I've been."

Hangyul puts his book down again.

"Who would enjoy being pursued by someone they aren't interested in, especially so persistently?" Wooseok's voice is unemotional. "Jinhyuk was so kind to me. He turned me down kindly and promised we would still be best friends, and we were. It was the best possible outcome when our feelings wouldn't change. It's my fault for hanging on him like that."

Wooseok smiles, sharp and ugly. "It's embarrassing to watch, isn't it? Pathetic, that I still hold out hope even now that he might look at me like he looks at a British girl he met not three hours earlier. Shameful for a man to act like that."

"It's not your fault," Hangyul says. "You're both trying your best to find a happy medium."

"Are we?" Wooseok stares at the wall. "Feels like I stopped trying years ago."

Silence falls between them.

"You're right," Hangyul admits. "It _is_ painful to watch you and Jinhyuk together. I couldn't take it. I had to step in."

"Right?" Wooseok mumbles.

Hangyul gets up, climbs onto the bed, faces Wooseok's back. "But hyung, you can't shoulder all of that weight. There's no way Jinhyuk-hyung can't see that this slow burn is hurting you. I know he can see how much you're struggling. He thinks he's being kind, giving you a thread to hang on. But he should know better. He should cut you off."

"Then what?" Wooseok says.

"Then you get up and move on. Put on your tightest pants. Go get some ass."

Wooseok snorts.

"No, I'm serious. Heartbreak sucks. But you can't let it ruin you. You're still young and beautiful; go find someone to love you."

Wooseok sits up and looks at Hangyul with narrowed eyes. "This. This is young and beautiful?" He gestures to his wrinkled, askew shirt and ruined makeup. "Don't make me laugh."

"You haven't even tried yet," Hangyul tuts. He grabs the ties on the front of Wooseok's shirt and ties them together, twisting the knot into a graceful, looping bow. He plucks Wooseok's shirt into place and—with minimal hesitation—shoves the ends of it back beneath Wooseok's waistline. Wooseok's forearms rest delicately on Hangyul's shoulders, wrists crossing behind his head. He smells like sweat and expensive cologne that sticks to the roof of Hangyul's mouth. Hangyul busies himself with shoving Wooseok's shirt into his pants. His palms are distractingly large when pressed against Wooseok's slim waist.

Hangyul leans back and Wooseok's hands slide down to rest on his pecs. Hot to the touch. _Drunk; he's drunk_ , Hangyul reminds himself. Wooseok watches Hangyul with attentive eyes and Hangyul chocks that up to drunkenness, too.

Hangyul licks his thumb and wipes at the smudging makeup on Wooseok's face. Wooseok makes a tiny noise of protest but doesn't duck to avoid Hangyul's touch. His fingers tighten around the lapels of Hangyul's shirt. He tolerates the treatment for a couple minutes before he says, "I don't just know you from Jinhyuk's class stories, you know. I read your poetry."

Hangyul nearly takes Wooseok's eye out. "Shit," he hisses. "Sorry." And then louder, in his head, _What? What? Hello, excuse me, what???_

"How on earth did you come across my poetry?" Hangyul sighs.

"School newsletter."

"People read those?"

"I like poetry," Wooseok says, which makes sense given the whole degree-in-literature deal. "I like seeing what our students are getting up to. They're usually very good. But I liked yours enough to look up your website."

Hangyul winces, wiping harder at Wooseok's face. The level of pseudo-professionalism on that old thing...and the poems reposted there weren't even his best work...

"'If words, as they claimed, had no weight in our world,'" Wooseok begins, and this time Hangyul does drop his hands in disbelief, "'why did we keep sinking, Doctor—I mean Lord—why did the water swallow our almost human hands as we sang? Like this.'"

Wooseok can't look at Hangyul and Hangyul can't look at Wooseok, so they both look at Wooseok's hands still holding Hangyul's shirt. "That one is my favorite," Wooseok says quietly. "I think about it every few days, just those lines."

"It's old," Hangyul says, an apology, although it sounds more like an accusation. All along Hangyul had thought himself a stranger in Wooseok's mind, when in reality Wooseok had years of Hangyul's self shown through his work in his head, while Hangyul only had a brief memory and a rumor to build Wooseok in his mind. It's not fair.

"You have a photo of yourself on your 'about' page," Wooseok says, "so I knew it was you as soon as Jinhyuk hailed you." He pulls the corner of his lip into his mouth. "I thought you were handsome," he says. Hangyul's eyes jump to meet his. "I still do."

It's too much, the secret on his mind. "I saw you once before, too," Hangyul admits. "From afar. It was before I knew your name. I tried to play it off earlier, but I was really shocked that Kim Wooseok was the man I saw that day."

"Why didn't you come say hi to me?"

Hangyul could laugh. "Oh? Would you have been receptive to a stranger coming up to you and trying to make friends?"

"I might've been," Wooseok says. "Maybe if you had talked to me that day, it wouldn't have ended up like this."

"Like how?" Hangyul asks. "Jinhyuk-hyung? I don't think one happenstance meeting could prevent you from falling in love with him." _Or did you mean my thumb on your cheek, your fingers wrinkling my shirt, the memory echo of my hands holding you?_

"Someone once told me the best way to get over heartbreak is to put on my tightest pants and get some ass," Wooseok says.

"Ah, but I have it on good authority that you don't like hookups," Hangyul says. His heart is racing and he feels ready to jump out of his skin. Wooseok's hands are still holding his damn shirt.

"I don't know if I do or not," Wooseok says, lifting one shoulder and dropping it. "I've never tried before."

Hangyul hates himself for it, but he sees how easy this could be. It plays out in his mind—his hands, sliding up Wooseok's ribcage; his mouth, nestling against Wooseok's and splitting him open, stealing from him. It would be child's play to take this damaged man and make him putty under Hangyul's hands. Wooseok had been floating without an anchor all this time, and right now he is clutching at Hangyul. Wanting Hangyul. Or wanting what Hangyul stood for, the silhouette of his body over Wooseok's, dulling the pain if only for a night. The thought makes Hangyul sick.

"You're drunk," Hangyul says. He drops his hands.

"I don't let myself get drunk around Jinhyuk," Wooseok counters, but his fingers loosen their grip.

"I won't do that to you," Hangyul says softly.

Wooseok drops his hands, barks out a laugh. "You sound just like him," he says. "You won't fuck me, but you won't let me get hurt." His eyes are flinty when they meet Hangyul's. "Make up your fucking minds. It hurts."

Wooseok backs away from Hangyul and climbs off the bed. True to his word, he doesn't so much as stumble.

"Where are you going?" Hangyul asks, weary.

"To find someone who won't pretend to be a good guy," Wooseok says, turning the lock. "Jackson knows plenty of attractive guys. Surely there's someone who won't find anything wrong with—"

He opens the door and Hangyul, before he can think about it, gets up and slams the door closed. Wooseok burns a hole in Hangyul with his glare. "Let me go."

"To have reckless sex with a stranger? No."

"It's not reckless; it's sober and intentional. Or is _everything_ you said to me tonight a lie?"

He pulls at the door and Hangyul rests his weight on it, sealing the door shut. "Not like this," Hangyul says. "Please."

"What must it be like, in your heads?" Wooseok snaps. "Nothing I do is good enough for you but you just _can't_ let me out of your claws, can you? Is it fun? Toying with me?"

Hangyul grabs Wooseok by the shoulders and pushes him back, back until the backs of his knees hit the bed and he falls onto it, Hangyul following him and pressing his hands into the bed on either side of Wooseok's shoulders. Wooseok goes silent, eyes wide and pupils shaking.

Hangyul takes a deep breath. He drags his hand down the bed to touch Wooseok's wrist. Wooseok flinches, but lets Hangyul take his wrist, lift it until Wooseok's palm rests over Hangyul's heart. Wooseok's eyes flicker between his hand and Hangyul's face.

"Is this the pulse of someone who is just toying with you?" Hangyul asks. "Tell me, honestly. No more bullshit. Do you really think I don't want you with every fiber of my being?"

Wooseok's throat bobs.

"Don't sleep with a stranger because you're upset," Hangyul begs. "Please."

"Okay," Wooseok says softly.

Hangyul places his hand over Wooseok's on his chest. "I'm sorry," he says. "I wasn't listening to you. I'm sorry for seeing you as nothing but damaged goods. You said at the start that you had it all under control. I'm sorry for not believing you and not trusting your judgment."

Wooseok's eyelashes flutter and he looks away. "Well," he mumbles, "I was about to rush out and throw myself on the first single person I saw, so."

Hangyul squeezes Wooseok's hand to get him to look up and shakes his head. "No," he says. "No more bullshit. You know what's best for you. I won't get in your way anymore. I promise." He lets Wooseok go and steps away from him. Wooseok sits up.

"Okay," Wooseok says. "So what will you do?"

"What I should have done from the start," Hangyul says. "Hyung, tell me what you need."

"I need Jinhyuk to love me back," Wooseok says, automatic.

Hangyul swallows, throat tight.

"But he's right." Wooseok looks at his hands, folded in his lap. "You're right. Everyone's right. It's impossible to get what I need. But what I _want_..." He looks back up at Hangyul and Hangyul feels like his blood is on fire. "I want to know what it's like to be loved. Like that. Like how I love. I want that effort returned."

Hangyul's mouth is dry. "What do you want from me, hyung?"

"Want me," Wooseok demands. "Show me what it's like to be loved like that."

Hangyul shifts towards Wooseok, slow steps until his knees are touching Wooseok's. He lifts his hand and strokes Wooseok's cheek with the back of his knuckles, watches Wooseok's eyes close. Hangyul lets his thumb fall to Wooseok's chin and he thumbs his bottom lip softly. Wooseok's eyes open, half-lidded, to meet his. Hangyul shoves all the screaming, burning parts of himself deep, deep down.

"Okay," he whispers.

He climbs into the center of the bed, tugging Wooseok after him. Wooseok allows himself to be arranged in Hangyul's lap, enough space between them to keep things from moving too fast. Hangyul's lizard brain curses every inch separating his body from Wooseok's but he reins it in. Watches Wooseok's darting eyes and knows that he's made the right decision. He touches Wooseok's jaw and guides his mouth to meet Hangyul's.

The kiss is gentle but Wooseok's breath still stutters nervously from his nose. He tries to deepen the kiss and Hangyul pulls back enough to stop him, his other hand settling against Wooseok's side. "Not yet," he breathes, their lips touching when he speaks. "Let’s enjoy this." Wooseok shudders slightly under Hangyul's hands but he allows the slow exploration of his mouth. He leans into the soft presses of lips to lips, trembling when Hangyul pauses to brush their mouths back and forth lightly. It sends shocks down Hangyul's spine, too.

"No one ever lets me do this," Hangyul confesses in a murmur. He opens his eyes. "Are you okay?"

Wooseok doesn't look okay, but in the way that it's okay not to look okay. He's flushed and his gaze is unfocused, but his hands have found their way back to the lapels of Hangyul's shirt, clutching tightly. "What?" he asks. "Oh. Yeah, I'm fine."

Hangyul kisses below his ear. "You'll tell me if I go too far?"

"You won't." Raw certainty.

Hangyul's guts clench shamefully. "Hyung," he insists. "You'll tell me?"

"Yeah, I—" He sucks in a breath when Hangyul kisses his earlobe. "I will. I will."

"Do you want more?"

Wooseok's grip tightens. "More..."

"My tongue."

Hangyul only means it to come out factual, but with the exchange of low voices and heat pouring off both their bodies, it sounds lewd and out of place. He flushes, reflected on Wooseok's skin. "Well," he mumbles. "You know what I mean."

"Yeah." Wooseok's voice is small.

"So, can I?"

"Yeah," Wooseok says again.

[ ](https://twitter.com/capseoule/status/1172003729119285248?s=20)

Hangyul's hand on Wooseok's jaw feels less like a guide and more like an anchor for himself, so he doesn't let the headiness of this carry him away or make him go crazy. He slots his mouth against Wooseok's and he forgot, right, Wooseok is older than him, Wooseok has had paramours, Wooseok knows how to kiss. Hangyul feels like something is stolen from him instead the moment Wooseok's tongue slides into his mouth. Wooseok's hands slide from his shirt to cup the back of his head, pulling Hangyul further into Wooseok's mouth and pushing his body closer to Hangyul, his knees digging into the bed. He can't think—can only feel, can only be devoured by Wooseok and devour him in turn.

Hangyul's hand slides up Wooseok's back to hold him better and Wooseok lets out a sharp gasp that breaks their mouths apart.

"What? What?" Hangyul pries Wooseok for an explanation, but Wooseok buries his face into Hangyul's neck and says nothing. "Are you okay?" A nod. "Did I hurt you?" A headshake. Hangyul tries to push Wooseok back so he can look at him, but Wooseok clings fiercely, arms looped around Hangyul's neck. "Hyung," he huffs. "You're worrying me." He runs a soothing hand up and down Wooseok's back and Wooseok shudders.

Hangyul pauses. "Wait. Are you embarrassed?"

"Shut up," Wooseok hisses.

A real wave of panic crashes over Hangyul. "Hyung, you're not—have you had sex before?"

This time Wooseok does lean back to scowl at him. "Of _course_ I've had—"

"Then why did you—" Understanding dawns on Hangyul. His eyes widen and suddenly he can only feel where his hands rest against Wooseok’s back. "It feels that good?"

"Shut up," Wooseok says, not looking at him.

"You..." Hangyul takes a moment to ground himself. "Can I touch your back?"

"Shut _up_ ," Wooseok hisses.

Hangyul lowers his voice to a whisper, trying to mask his excitement. "Your bare back, hyung."

"I don't care," Wooseok says, sounding like he very much cares. Hangyul tugs Wooseok's shirt out from his pants and Wooseok's eyes flutter closed. He tucks his hands under the shirt and then, carefully, he runs the tips of his fingers up from Wooseok's hips to the base of his shoulder blades.

"No, don't—!" Wooseok gasps and tightens his arms around Hangyul's neck, burying his face in Hangyul's chest.

Hangyul freezes and snatches his hands away. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he says. "I didn't mean to—"

"No," Wooseok says, frustration leaking into his voice. "Feels so good."

Hangyul frowns. "But—"

"Keep going," Wooseok mumbles into his skin. "More."

Hangyul lowers his hands to Wooseok's skin. He draws them back down to Wooseok's waist and Wooseok jerks against him, letting out a tiny noise. He doesn't loosen his grip. Hangyul strokes up and down his skin slowly and Wooseok trembles, murmuring half-words and tiny wordless noises at the touch. And then again, "Please, no, _ah_ —"

Hangyul stops. "Hyung, I—"

" _Keep going_ ," Wooseok hisses.

So Hangyul traces designs across Wooseok's back and lets Wooseok pant into his skin, his body shuddering against Hangyul's, seemingly out of his control. His babbling is a senseless mix of want and whines and embarrassed _no no too much too good keep going please_ that has Hangyul helplessly hard. Wooseok is so small under Hangyul's hands—soft skin stretched over lightweight muscle; ribs and the knobs of vertebrae almost suggestive in how they feel—all meeting at Wooseok's slender, sensual waist. Hangyul wraps his hands around Wooseok's waist and his thumbs brush each other. Wooseok rears back, pawing at Hangyul's chest and searching for his mouth.

"Hold me like this," Wooseok demands against Hangyul's lips. "Hold me and let me touch you."

"God," Hangyul chokes out. "Yes."

Wooseok focuses his hands on unbuttoning Hangyul's pants as fast as possible and Hangyul has only a moment to think _Wait, is this what you want, are you okay with this part too?_ before Wooseok undoes his own pants and spits into his hand and then Hangyul can only hear _yes, yes, yes_ from both of them.

(Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen) (Lower Left Ballpoint Pen ≊ Pen)

Wooseok is sitting up in their appropriated bed, hair dripping from the shower and shirt slipping off his shoulder. Hangyul curls around his back and kisses the top of his shoulder. Wooseok turns his head, looks at Hangyul down his nose. They pause, and then Wooseok leans in to kiss Hangyul's mouth softly.

"My savior, my desire," Wooseok says.

Hangyul smiles. "Another poem?"

Wooseok shrugs his bare shoulder. "Something I read once. Or heard on the radio. Or watched in a movie." He gives Hangyul a look. "It could be about you."

"Nah," Hangyul says. "You don't need me to save you from anything. Whatever it is you have to face on the other side of that door, you will handle with grace."

Wooseok rolls his eyes.

"Fine, with a lot of tearful conversations and awkward cups of coffee," Hangyul corrects himself, rolling his eyes too. "Whatever. I'll wait for you on the other side."

Wooseok snorts. "Don't force yourself. It will be a long time before I get over it. And even longer before I compose myself into something worth pursuing."

"Okay," Hangyul says.

"And I'm not promising you anything," Wooseok says. "This was nice and all, but I'm not tying myself to you. If I find someone better, I'm going with them."

"Okay," Hangyul says.

Wooseok slumps back against him. "Can't you at least get a little mad? Or hate me a little bit?"

"No," Hangyul says, and kisses his nose.

Wooseok wrinkles his nose. "You keep acting like you love me or something."

"Maybe I do," Hangyul says. "I don't know yet. But I'd like to stick around and find out."

Wooseok fingers the edges of his shirt. "Really? It won't be much fun for you."

"Really," Hangyul promises. "But you don't have to think about that right now, and neither do I. Jackson owes us for this rollercoaster of a night, don't you think?"

"We had sex in his shower," Wooseok says, frowning. "And in his bed."

"In his _guest_ bedroom," Hangyul specifies. "Totally not the same. He still owes us."

He pulls Wooseok down and Wooseok allows himself to be slotted against Hangyul's chest with minimal protest. Hangyul hooks his chin over Wooseok's shoulder and Wooseok takes his hands and starts to play with his fingers. "You should wear my shirt to bed," Hangyul says. "And when we leave."

"You're not my boyfriend," Wooseok says, but there's no force behind it.

"I could be," Hangyul says.

Wooseok sighs and flips around in Hangyul's arms. "If you're going to be so pushy about it, you better make me fall in love with you. All this talk has to equal some serious action."

"Agreed," Hangyul says. He pulls Wooseok closer and Wooseok presses his palms against Hangyul's chest, looking embarrassed.

"Okay, okay," Hangyul says, laughing. "I'll stop." But the moment his hold loosens, Wooseok curls further into his space.

"I'd like that," Wooseok says softly.

"What?" Hangyul asks. He starts to pet Wooseok's hair.

"I'd like to fall in love with you," Wooseok says. "So you have to try really hard, okay?"

Hangyul smiles. Presses a long kiss to Wooseok's forehead.

"Alright," he says. "I promise."

**Author's Note:**

> the poem wooseok quotes is "almost human" by ocean vuong, one of my current obsessions.
> 
> i commissioned that gyulcat art off my dear friend [cap](https://twitter.com/capseoule/status/1172003729119285248?s=20) so if you were as wowed by the finished piece as i was, please follow the link and give him some love (please. it embarrasses him and brings me great joy.)
> 
> you can also pester me [on twitter](https://twitter.com/whiskerprince), if you'd like?


End file.
